The Dark Huntress
by Ellenka
Summary: dead & archived
1. Identity Theft

**Disclaimer:** I don't own settings and characters from The Hunger Games, or anything else you might recognize. I'm just planning to have some wicked fun with them. Song lyrics quoted in this chapter : "I Wish I Had An Angel" by Nightwish.

**(PSA: As you may have noticed, this has been left for dead for 3 years. If I ever continue it, I'll edit/rewrite it first, please ignore for now.)**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Identity theft<strong>

_I'm going down so frail and cruel  
>Drunken disguise changes all the rules<br>Old loves, they die hard  
>Old lies, they die harder<em>

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><p>The cake from our last celebratory banquet, a three-tiered thing adorned with white and red marzipan roses, still sits on display in the bakery window. And makes my stomach clench, not with the hunger and craving the goods there used to make me feel a lifetime ago, but with humiliation and fear.<p>

"You suggested it yourself, Katniss," says Peeta, lightly resting his hand on my cheek and turning my head to meet his gaze.

_As if I needed him to remind me_.

The moment of sheer insanity still haunts my mind distinct and vivid, however fervently I wish to forget it. It happened during our first night after the Victor's interview, when I still believed I could at least _try_.

Reliving it makes me feel thoroughly disgusted with myself, but I can't keep the images, the thoughts, the emotions from swirling in my mind like a maelstrom, threatening to drag me off the deep end.

_The genuine joy I glimpsed in his face before he dipped his lips to my neck implied long-cherished dreams coming true and his tentative caresses are gentle and pleasant, but not intense enough to distract me from the cruel reality of our Capitol nightmare. This shouldn't be happening. Not now, not like this and certainly not here, between the white satin roses thirsting for my blood._

_We are alone, but undoubtedly surrounded by hidden cameras; we are still playing, we are still performing and Peeta seems all too keen on forgetting his solemn vow not to become a piece in their Games. My body revolts at the implications and my mind cowers at possible consequences of disappointing the audience, but right now, no rational thought can override my gut reaction. Bile and bubbles from the champagne Haymitch had so generously poured us earlier rise in my throat and fill my mouth with bitter denial._

_With strength I didn't know I possessed, I turn us around and find myself atop of him, capturing his hands in mine, the prickly thread of the golden mockingjay embroidery on my flimsy nightdress scratching against my wrist as I pull his fingers away from the thin strap._

"_Please not so fast, my love," I whisper, letting fake saccharine drip through gritted teeth and willing my composure to last _just a little longer_. "I… I don't feel ready." The hurt and guilt in his dilated eyes force my lashes down, in a look that could hopefully pass for demure._

"_Why… why don't we wait till we are married?" This idea is very stupid and very dangerous. But right now, I'd do absolutely anything to buy myself more time._

_Fear and betrayal flicker on his face, but he forces a smile, fake to match my own. "I will wait as long as you want me to, sweetheart," he whispers in an unfamiliar voice, but he kisses my hand like the gentleman he always professed to be._

_I lean down to kiss him, lips tightly closed, and all but sprint from the bed. "Good night, my love."_

_Seconds later, I'm locked in my own room, safely hidden under thick covers, biting the pillow to muffle my sobs. Only my tears stain the roses now, but my blood will soon follow._

The same fear and guilt flicker in Peeta's eyes now, as he confronts the shadow of my resentment and denial. Weeks passed since our return and the reporters finally skulked back to Capitol, leaving us alone. Leaving us with what?

_What have I done? It was wrong, wrong, so terribly and disgustingly wrong, but Peeta was still the best compulsory choice. The choice I could have survived. What happens to me now? What happens to us?_

So far nothing happened, but Snow is just bidding his time and I fear the worst.

_Whatever it is, I'd rather be dead._

But why does Peeta look at me as if he really _wanted_ to marry me? When he said he loved me long before the Reaping, I believed him… but now, everything we are, everything we have is tainted by the Capitol.

"You know very well I said it just to buy us some time."

_And I fear it's already running low_.

"I'm sorry it had to happen like that, Katniss. It… I… didn't know what…" he releases me as his voice falters and wrings his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry."

_As if I needed him to remind me._

"Too bad I can't really blame you," I sigh exasperatedly.

_Sometimes, I wish I could_.

"But I love you, Katniss. If you were willing… we could gather whatever is left of us to salvage and build on it."

"_We_ still are a part of their Games, Peeta. Camera fodder."

The fear in his eyes turns to pain.

"Love is beyond their Games and cameras, Katniss."

"Then our relationship doesn't fall into that category."

"I hoped it could. For years."

Does he still hold onto the vain hope to make me share a fantasy I never harbored? And perhaps even fill his Capitol-appointed house with beautiful little Mellarks, waiting to be reaped like golden corn for Snow's depraved pleasure in the years to come? The mental image makes me wish I'd swallowed the nightlock berries at the count of two. But I didn't do it, because survival is too deeply ingrained in my nature.

_Why do I have to keep regretting it?_

I avert my eyes and stand up abruptly. "Nothing good will ever come of it, Peeta. They want us to play on and it makes me sick."

He rises along with me and grabs my hand.

"Katniss…"

Shaking my head violently, I break free of his grip, turn on my heel and run back up to Victor's Village.

_If I just tried to sprint to the Cornucopia and got cut down on; none of this would have happened…_

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><p><em>Why the hell did I even bother to stay alive?<em>

When Haymitch Abernathy so graciously offered us the advice, I should have known not to take it. Judging by his famous tendency to render himself unconscious for extended periods of time, I should have figured that he obviously regrets having survived himself. Now I almost understand him and feel that he could almost understand me, but visiting him proves the usual waste of effort.

Gingerly navigating between piles of glass shards and other garbage, I make my way towards his senseless form slumped at the table, pry a bottle from his numb fingers and take a swig. The vile liquid burns my mouth and I end up choking and spitting half of it back out. The champagne was better. If I really wanted to knock myself out, I'd probably have to try morphling, and I like to believe I'm not on the verge of stooping that low. Yet.

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><p>So I return to my own cage of concrete and strange devices and head straight to my room to seek relief in dull apathy, not even bothering to switch on the garish electric lamps. To me, darkness holds no more horrors than the light, because nothing compares to the corruption forced into my very own body and mind.<p>

_What has become of me?_

I am not yet seventeen and not yet insane, but uncomfortably close to both marks.

After being Reaped, trained, styled, presented, burned, bloodied, Remade and touched, I don't recognize myself anymore.

People address me as Katniss Everdeen or The Girl on Fire or Co-Victor of the 74th Hunger Games.

Lacking the slightest inkling how to correct them, I decide to humor them and react to the name. That is, when I accidentally feel inclined to acknowledge anyone.

Unfortunately, Peeta Mellark is not to be ignored. I have to meet him every day, even with shifty eyes and guilty conscience, at least to exchange few pleasantries for the microphones. As far as the audience is concerned, we are presented as two parts of a whole, two Victors with one crown, the Star-crossed Lovers that changed the rules in their favor.

_Match made in the Hunger Games_.

For my part, the very notion feels horribly wrong, but he seems to handle everything Capitol throws his way with almost admirable grace, one unhinged Katniss Everdeen included.

Despite his best efforts, things remain awkward between us. Since I prefer to lock my memories from the Capitol away and stubbornly refuse to mention the Games myself, we run out of comfortable conversation topics quickly and our prolonged silences ring with unspoken inquiries.

When his respectful patience falters and _he asks me just that_, looking at me with his unbearably bright hope and sincere love that ignores even the fact that _we_ are still just pieces _their_ Games, I wish I were dead all over again.

_Why the hell does he have to remind me of the worst part of the deal?_

Sometimes, my attempts to converse with Peeta still have the same effect as acting my part and delivering my lines in front of the reporters: they exhaust me to the point of mental collapse and send me running to my empty room, when I can pretend I don't exist anymore.

_Damn, if it were act on both sides, we'd get along better. I need someone to fully understand my resentment._

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><p>A series of sharp knocks on the door interrupts my thoughts and I hurry to the half-curtained window for a furtive peek. I know who the visitor is and try to catch at least a glimpse before he'll have to leave again.<p>

Gale Hawthorne moves into my line of vision, waiting for my sister to join him outside, beyond the range of the surveillance.

Few quiet words and forlorn headshakes are exchanged, then-

"So she still can't handle a visit from her damn _cousin_?" his voice rises enough for me to discern the words, laced with pain and anger. His patience is wearing thin.

The lamp on our porch illuminates his profile, highlighting the chiseled contours of his face, so familiar, yet so striking. Even coal-dust and heartbreak suit him, but I don't want him to wear them.

I step away from the window before he decides to glance there and sink to the edge of my bed.

_Why do I have to miss him so much?_

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><p>Soon I hear the door slamming and Prim's quiet footsteps ascend the stairs and stop right in front of my door.<p>

_This time, I'm not getting away easily_.

She knocks, but enters without waiting for an invitation, knowing with certainty that I never answer, but wouldn't refuse her presence.

_How could I decline my dear little sister?_

"Katniss, Gale tried to see you. Again," she says softly, approaching closer.

"I know. Heard you talking to him," I mutter, bowing my head to hide my shame and… what? Some other feeling I can't quite place, but it's definitely not pleasant.

"He drags himself up here all the way from the mines and you never even acknowledge him. Why don't you want to meet our cousin?" Her expression sours, but her voice rings chipper and a bit louder than necessary.

"I… I," _can't tell you, not really_. "What did you tell him?" I ask, trying to change the topic and get the worst over with by means of one question.

"That you were visiting Peeta and probably Haymitch too and retired early," she says brazenly, pursing her lips.

_That's my sister. I killed for her and she wouldn't even lie for me. The most genuine person in the world._

"Thanks a million, Prim." She notes my half-hearted sarcasm, but appears unfazed.

"I also told him that you returned even more miserable. As usual," she adds in a barely audible whisper as she leans down to my ear. "Why do you refuse to see him? You know how much he cares for you. Maybe he could help-"

Her words hurt like a gentle trickle of salt seeping into an open wound.

"I want to see him, Prim. But I don't want him to see me… not like this, not after…" my own breathy whisper fades into a defeated sigh.

With both sorrow and relief sparkling in her eyes, Prim leans forward, poised to embrace me.

_Prim_.

I experienced everything to spare her and I would do it thousand times over. But I replaced her to shield her from pain I can't share with her now, not the entire burden that's mine to bear.

_Oh, how I love her_.

Refusing to let the taint of the Capitol touch her, I lean forward until my forehead rests on my knees. Undaunted, Prim sits on the bed, wraps hers arms around me from behind and lays her head on my back. Her soft breath and steady heartbeat pervade my senses. She is alive.

_My Primrose, my precious golden flower. Worth every sacrifice in the world_.

Not even her proximity can entirely diffuse the wretchedness implanted so deeply inside me, but her affectionate reminders that my own debasement is a meager price for _her_ life and safety never fail to placate me.

"Tomorrow is Sunday," she breathes into my ear. "Meet him. Please."

Nodding, I choke out something between a sigh and a sob.

"Thank you, Prim. Goodnight." Nice and resounding.

"Goodnight, Katniss," she answers loudly, releasing me with a soft, guilty smile, because we both know that my nights are no longer good.

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><p>Not even attempting to sleep, I watch the shadows play in the corners. My thoughts keep straying back to Gale and this time, I don't even attempt to stop them. However much I missed him, I avoided him like the mirror ever since my arrival; hiding, shunning familiar routes and never venturing into the forest on Sundays. But with my misery stubbornly growing to unbearable proportions, I do feel increasingly tempted to meet him.<p>

_He might still remember me_.

He is the only person who truly knew who I was before I left, even better than Prim, because I told him things I never dared to tell her. He was my best friend for almost four years, standing strong and silent by my side, watching my back and comforting me when I needed it most.

Even now, I'm sure he would let me seek consolation in his arms without asking questions or demanding assurances.

_But what then?_

How would he react upon learning that I'm not his beloved Catnip anymore, just some strange Capitol creature invading his personal space?


	2. Identity Clash

**A/N:** Many thanks to all my readers and even more to my dear reviewers: Howlynn, CarolinaPhoenix, EStrunk, sinking815 and Cloud-Lover26.

Disclaimer: Song lyrics quoted in this chapter: "No Easy Way Out" by Ozzy Osbourne.

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><p><strong>Chapter 2: Identity Clash<strong>

_You've got to tell me it's over now_  
><em>I'm trapped inside of a dream<em>  
><em>The crushing weight on my shoulders now<em>  
><em>Is bearing down and it seems<em>  
><em>There's just no easy way out<em>

The pale streak on the eastern horizon gradually spreads, encroaching upon the expanse of blue-black velvet. My eyes widen along with it as I slowly back up against the headboard and draw my knees to my chest.

_Dawn __is __approaching_.

Every dawn heralds deceitful hope for another day without summons, threats or punishments, hope that may well prove futile by mid-morning. Sunday dawn is even more special and more tantalizing, because it offers a chance to seek shards of my former self where they are most treasured, shards that may cut and hurt whatever has become of me. On Sundays, Gale waits for me in the forest that no longer brings me solace when I venture there alone, and I never show for fear of facing the memory of myself in his eyes, even though the prolonged separation is becoming unbearable.

_It__'__s __now __or __next __week __and __I __can__'__t __be __sure __my __fortune __lasts __that __long_.

Slowly, I awake from my anxious stupor and rise from the bed. Better get dressed before the sun rises any further. Semi-darkness makes the procedure almost bearable. With practiced, blind movements, I exchange my pajamas for my old hunting outfit, and risk a peek at my reflection only after finalizing it with Father's old jacket that I wear like an outward shroud of normalcy after losing any other, skin included.

_The __jacket __can __almost __hide __it, __so __it__'__s __not __that __bad. __When __I __cross __my __arms, __or __fiddle __with __my __lapels, __or __hold __onto __the __strap __of __my __quiver__… __it__'__s __not __THAT __bad__…_

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><p>The early morning air is crisp and refreshing and the heavens overcast, just according to my preferences. Now that I finally gathered my courage, I hurry towards our old meeting spot earlier than usual, to avoid missing Gale if he decided not to linger and go hunting straight away. But I find him already there; leaning back against the rock ledge, eyes raised to the sky of matching mournful gray.<p>

_Did __he __spend __some __time __sitting __here __like __that __every__day? __Coming __earlier __and __waiting __for __me __to __appear __on __time, __first __knowing __I__'__m __stolen, __then __thinking __I__'__m __lost?_

Stopping in my tracks, I observe him for a few seconds, standing still like a statue, as if I feared he were an illusion I could dispel by a rapid movement.

"Gale…"

His name involuntarily slips through my lips, more like a loud exhale, but the sound doesn't escape his sharp ears and he turns to face me. Something seems to come alive in his eyes, like smoldering embers flaring back to open flame.

"Katniss…" he sighs just as quietly, sitting up straighter. _Katniss_. From him, the name sounds even stranger. _Is __it __me?_ He used to give me a different name.

Tentatively, I take a step closer.

_What __should __I __tell __him, __after __everything __that __happened?_

"I… I'm here." Try obvious and overdue.

He raises his eyebrows. "Trouble in paradise?"

The ridiculousness of the assumption makes me flinch, but with his voice so hollow, the question lacks sufficient edge to hurt.

_Did he think I avoided him because of Peeta? _

"Paradise?" I scoff.

_Idiot__… __but __since __I __never __cared __to __explain__… __and __didn__'__t __let __Prim __tell __him __anything __too __dangerous__…_

"Call it dystopia," the word comes out like a broken whisper and Gale's eyes soften.

_He __will __understand_.

Slowly, but resolutely, I cross the last distance separating us and sink onto the rock beside him. For a fleeting second, the world that seemed disjointed since my return (_or __was __it __departure?_) swirls into focus. Now I feel I truly belong to this place, unlike the moments when I sat here alone.

_C__an __I __still __truly __belong __here?_

As I lean closer to Gale, drawn by the soothing warmth radiating from his body, I imagine life seeping into me instead of draining out.

_Or __am __I __just __spreading __the __taint __to __the __last __clean __place __in __this __world?_

Leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees, I hide my face in my hands.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like-" Gale begins.

"It _should_ look like one, so I couldn't even blame you if you did," I mutter, cutting across him. Everyone in Panem should believe that lie. Everyone but Gale, because I can't accept the notion.

After a moment of hesitation, Gale gingerly extends his hand to touch the small of my back, lightly tapping the worn leather of my jacket with his fingertips. The same code he uses to alert me of his presence when he knocks on our door.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tries.

_Yes, __I __do_. More than anything else, I want to wrap everything new and changed and horrible inside me, at least into words, and spill it out, but I have no idea _how_, so I just hunch further down and shake my head.

Silently, Gale wraps his other arm around my waist and I shift slightly in his embrace, leaning my back against his chest and entwining our fingers to make up for the lack of actual contact ensured by the unyielding barrier of my jacket.

For a few moments, an almost-forgotten feeling of comfort and contentment engulfs my mind and I let myself forget what I am hiding, where I'm _supposed_ to belong now and for what purpose I'd been as good as claimed. Then a mockingjay cries in the distance, eliciting sudden return of the nagging fear and doubt that forces a choked sob from the depths of my throat.

Gale tightens his embrace and his sigh brushes my ear. "Is there anything I could do to make you feel better?"

Carefully, I disentangle myself from him and rise, suddenly twitchy as if I could shake off the threats pursuing me by moving farther away. An invisible cloud of questions with too horrible answers hovers between us, but I'd rather seek shelter in the distance than face the thunder.

"I don't know… we could… just try to go on… just like the old times."

Gale stands up, letting the traces of frustration and disappointment evident on his face dissolve in the familiar grin that always makes my world _just __a __little __brighter_.

"If that's what you need."

_Do __I? __Could __it __ever __be __the __same, __now __that __I__'__m __no __longer __a __hunter, __but __a __stuffed __trophy?_

Nodding vigorously to dispel the doubts from my head, I add, "Sorry I didn't show up for this long." We work as a team and don't make debts, but now I certainly owe him at least an apology.

Gale shrugs it off; lips quirked in an odd half-smile. "Why would I hold a grudge when I can hold you instead?"

Relieved, I let my palms and my forehead rest against his chest for few more moments, relishing the familiar comfort of his proximity. He slides his hand from my hair down my back and gently tugs at the end of my braid.

"C'mon, let's go hunting."

A genuine smile I had already counted among this year's worth of sacrifice for the Capitol spreads over my face.

"Okay."

That's my Gale.

_Now __let__'__s __find __out __who __am __I_.

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><p>As we move together through the forest, steps silent and synchronized <em>like <em>_before_, I realize how precious the moments I'd been taking for granted for four years truly are… _our_ moments of freedom nobody else can share or witness… _only __take __away_. Now they are almost lost… we had all the time in the world and now we have only few hours left and later I'll have to report back and _pretend __that __I __am_… the thought makes me sicker than ever before.

_And __what __am __I __doing __here?_ I didn't tell Gale anything, because I didn't dare to and he accepted me back without question, because he wanted to, he still wants to believe we belong together… _am __I __pretending __everything __can __get __back __to __normal __when __I __am __no __longer __normal, __no __longer __whole __and __natural? __Am __I __pretending __to __belong __here, __when __I __should __be __pretending __I __belong __to __the __Victor__'__s __Village?_

My steps, so confident since the elation of having Gale's company back empowered me, falter again.

_Am __I __Katniss __Everdeen, __the __Victor, __the __styled __doll, __the __hostage trapped __in __my __own __body? __Or __Catnip, __the __hunter, __the __fighter, __the __forever __free?_

Thoughts, treacherous and poisoned, swirl in my head and I no longer know whether I'm battling sickness or attempts at recovery and lean back against a tree when the world spins out of focus again. Gale notices my lapse immediately and strides back to me, the concerned look I've seen so many times through the window taking over his face again.

He reaches for my hand, slowly, giving me a chance to slap his advance away, but I let his fingers close around mine, no longer intent on refusing whatever comfort he has to offer me, because I _need_ it. Yet I understand the caution, because the headstrong and fiercely independent girl he once knew sometimes tended to go ballistic when _he_ initiated physical contact at an inopportune moment.

Her name was-

"Catnip-"

Finally, he says it, the endearingly annoying nickname, and the tenderness in his eyes and the longing in his voice rip right through my rickety defenses.

_He __knows __she__'__s __gone!_

Shaking my head violently, I break free of his grip and run.

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><p>Guided more by instinct than senses, I arrive to our place and tumble down, panting wildly. My head spins and the world swims before my eyes, a dismal mess of smeared greens and browns and grays. Without Gale by my side, the rock feels cold and hard and alien again.<p>

When the rushing in my ears subsides enough for me to notice outside noises, I discern a familiar rustle in the foliage. Gale is eerily silent even when he runs, but I don't even need to hear him approaching, I can sense his closeness.

_Hey, __what __happened __to __the __good __old _allow-about-half-an-hour-for-sulking_?_

We used to respect that when one of us decided to stalk or run away… but now Gale is either finally convinced that things between us can no longer be the same or too worried about my sanity to let me out of his sight again. Both possibilities are equally painful and difficult to deal with, so I get up and run back towards the fence.

Sure, he could overtake me if he really wanted to, but hopefully, he'll understand that I still need space.

_After __all, __if __I __couldn__'__t __rely __on __Gale, __who __else __would __I __have __left?_

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><p>My fatigued legs slow to a stumbling walk and my breaths hitch painfully as I make my way through the Seam. The lack of oxygen in my brain does nothing for my addled judgment.<p>

_What the hell have I done?_

Maybe I screwed up for good and Gale lost his patience with the crazed girl he once regarded with that entrancing fire in his eyes. Maybe I lost him, not because of the Games, but through my own inability to handle the consequences. Maybe I took the right course of action. The Girl Who Burned to Ashes and Plastic should never meet him again and let Catnip live undefiled in his heart.

Unfortunately, my panicked escape doesn't count as a real decision and I'm fed up with my life being ruined by events outside my control – regardless of whether the perpetrator is Capitol itself or my Capitol-warped brain.

Brimming with crumbling confidence and rampant paranoia locked in a pointless battle, my mind is trapped in a stalemate, getting increasingly stale with every passing week and now I fumbled another attempt to break from the stupor.

_The __Catnip __of __old __wouldn__'__t __spit __on __me __if __I __were __on __fire_.

She never gave up, not until it was too late. I shouldn't give up now.

_Or should I?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN no 2: **

Okay, this one totally ran away with me. Please do tell me if I'm going crazy along with Katniss or if it's still remotely logical and readable…

To CP and Howlynn: Haymitch comes next. I solemnly swear!


	3. Brief Respite

**A/N:** Many thanks to everyone for reading and even more to Howlynn, CarolinaPhoenix, EStrunk, Starsong17 and Cloud-Lover26 for reviewing the last chapter.

Disclaimer: Song lyrics quoted in this chapter: "Life Is Beautiful" by SIXX: A. M.

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><p><strong>Chapter 3: Brief Respite<strong>

_I know some things that you don't_  
><em>I've done things that you won't<em>  
><em>There's nothing like a trail of blood<em>  
><em>to find your way back home<em>

* * *

><p><em>Isn't giving up exactly what the Capitol wants me to do?<em>

Now with the fresh memory of Gale's touch still tingling on my hands and the vivid reminder of the life I'd lost causing my heart to clench and soar at once, my feet stubbornly refuse to sanction a return to the Victor's Village. Subconsciously, I stray onto the longest possible detour. The overgrown, seldom used path leads to the ultimate temptation, secluded and mercifully empty.

Leaning my back against the gnarled trunk of the tree and closing my eyes, I let the energy of living entity older than the Hunger Games, maybe even older than Panem, course through my body and ghosts of those who choked hanging from the branches swirl around me. Soft breeze, cold regardless of the season, caresses my hair with spectral fingers, soothing and eerily familiar. Perhaps an undead mutt like me belongs here more than anywhere else, to the threshold between the world of the living and the grave.

Perhaps I already died here before.

The funereal serenity of the place pervades my senses and assuages my reeling thoughts and I concentrate on inhaling and exhaling deeply until I begin to feel grateful for the air that passes unrestrained through my trachea. _Can __I __give __up __while __I __still __breathe?__Would __surrender __of __mind __alleviate __my __ordeal __or __bring __about __defeat __that __is __not __entirely __inevitable?_

Perhaps I will die here when all hope disappears, but not yet. For now, a glimpse of the escape route suffices.

_Gale says I can't tie a proper snare anyway… _

Strangely enough, the thought elicits a slight chuckle, reverberating weirdly in the deathly silence. Replete with longing for everything I so abruptly left behind the fence, the lucid freedom that draws me more powerfully than I dared to anticipate; I reluctantly push myself away from the tree and start back towards the cage that holds the ruins of my self and my life.

* * *

><p>Halfway up the last hill, I meet the primary reminder that I can no longer decide my own fate, that my ruin is not mine alone. Gentle smile plays on his lips and sorrow clouds his bright blue gaze as he notes my disheveled appearance and the dried tearstains on my cheeks.<p>

"Hello, Katniss."

Not trusting myself to speak yet, I just nod in greeting and let him take me by the arm and lead me up to his house. We'll have to spend a while there and deliver at least a short but intense performance before being able to return outside and talk freely. The thought of acting makes my stomach clench, but I'd prefer to get the compulsory part out of the way sooner than later. Sometimes, I wonder if they record our words and broadcast them through the radio, just to keep the audience updated.

After nodding our heads and silently counting to three, we open the doors with a bang and a burst of laughter and exchange few smacking kisses on the cheeks

"I baked you cheese buns, my love. Your favorite."

Thoughtful Peeta. He knows this always elicits a genuine reaction.

"Oh, wonderful! I love them _almost_ as much as I love you!"

_Okay,__that __might __have __been _too _impulsive_.

"Almost being the key word," I add quickly, but not quickly enough.

"Of course I wouldn't suspect anything else, my dearest," Peeta offers helpfully, but I know I already ruined the mood. Squeezing his hand apologetically, I bite into the cheese bun, exclaim in delight and keep the rest of the conversation focused on Peeta's unparalleled baking skills and hypothetical advantages of a life with a husband like him. Reliable territory, but I suspect the Capitol must be already getting bored with this particular brand of interaction, so I use it only as a last resort, when I completely run out of willpower and inspiration.

_Letting them get bored for good would be too dangerous… because that could hasten our return in front of the cameras._

Today, even my patience is running low and I feel more trapped than ever, because a part of my mind still roams in the woods where everything is genuine. _Everything __except __for __me__…_

"Let's take a walk outside," I say in an attempt to cut our sojourn in the house as short as possible. "With all the goodies you bake for me, it's hard to keep in shape." The following giggle sounds more like a cat drowning.

_I __guess __I __should __practice __more_.

"Katniss, I'll love you forever, no matter the shape. But if you insist, a lovely walk with my sweetheart is all I wish." His eyes deliver a different message, but he realizes it's high time to go. Once I start giggling like that, my power to convince dwindles dangerously fast.

"Oh, thank you, my love." I let him take my hand and press few resounding kisses into my palm before bursting back out.

The luscious tang of baked cheese sours on my tongue and I shake my head as if the rapid motion could expel all the remorse and the pervading sense of _wrongness_. Even more than acting for the Capitol's entertainment, I resent the idea of having to hurt Peeta over and over again, of letting the saccharine words intended for the microphones turn into salt as I pour them into his wounded heart. _Damn, __if __I __could __just __behave __like __I __want __to__… __but __no, __that __wouldn__'__t __be __the __girl __who __cuddled __with __Peeta __on __the __double-Victor__'__s __loveseat. __And __I __am __supposed __to __remain _her_, __for __all __the __ears __concerned__…_

* * *

><p>On our way home after he visited his family at the bakery and I, feeling too restless to withstand further confinement, opted for more aimless wandering, Peeta unintentionally returns the favor and sways the conversation back to where we left off yesterday.<p>

_Oh, __how __I __miss _quiet _companionship_.

"Do you really believe nothing good ever comes of it?" he asks with sadness a person like him should never experience.

"They'd record us and sell us, Peeta. Then we'll have to mentor. Smile at the cameras every year, thank the Capitol for letting us live and lead other kids to death or worse."

I'd have to accept the idea, at least outwardly. Pretend to condone it. Pretend to _espouse_ it. For the rest of my life.

_I'd so much rather die._

"That would happen anyway, Katniss. And we'll jump straight to the _worse_ part ourselves if we refuse again. Together, we could make it more bearable."

Something in his words rings true, but I shudder anyway. We would achieve some sort of moral victory. We already have. But that would never be enough, not for me.

_Is there some fight left in me, or has it been extracted by scalpels in the Remake Center?_

"Giving them everything they haven't stolen yet wouldn't make it bearable," I snap.

_Maybe __I __can __still __find __it_.

"Katniss, please believe me, I think it's wrong as much as you do. But if there's nothing we can do to stop them, we could at least find some comfort in being in it together. Like our own Games."

If there is a bright side to my Games, it's name is Peeta Mellark. Could I just lose myself in his eyes and believe that we can live with playing on together?

_No_.

I am not broken enough to submit_._

"I can't think about it like that. If we only could do… something… anything… Haymitch said we caused some unrest already…"

"Katniss, even if it were plausible, that would lead to more horrors than the Games," he reminds me.

"Nothing can be worse than this chokehold they have on us."

"Katniss-" he begins, but my reserve of self-control is almost drained.

"Please walk me to… the house." _We __still __have __to __say __goodnight __like __lovers __before __I __snap_.

As we appear in my doorway, mother dutifully invites him in for dinner. After another hour of persistent awkwardness, diffused only by Prim's cordial attempts at conversation; we part with some more ostentatiously loud kisses and brainfelt goodnights.

"You are so lucky you have him," offers Prim after the doors close behind Peeta and I slump back to the table and hold my pounding head in my palms.

"I know." This actually isn't lie. I know I'd already be much worse off _without_ him.

"And a place where you can be alone…" she giggles dutifully, but something in her expression tells me she is actually not talking about Peeta. She tries to check if I met Gale, but she can't really ask me, not unless I went back out with her. With no strength left to confess my irrational antics and face her disappointment, I remain seated and stewing in self-loathing. However much I wanted to shelter her, I hold her trapped in my own cage and keep entangling her in my game of deceit and misery.

"Oh, yes. I'm so glad I met him today," I force around the lump in my throat. At least I'm not lying outright – now that I had some time to think about it, I'm glad I went to see Gale and suddenly don't want it to be the last time. I can't lose my last link to freedom.

* * *

><p>Next morning finds me on a bench in the town square where I landed after walking Prim to an early class. The morning bustle of everyday life feels alien and strangely fascinating, less real than nightmares of the Games, of the Capitol. Another familiar silhouette with golden hair detaches from the crowd and uncertainly veers toward my spot.<p>

We used to spend a lot of time together back in school. _How __long __ago __was __that? __In __a __previous __life?_ The strange sort of tacit understanding or at least sympathy we seemed to share before felt more natural than the forced pleasantries we had to exchange during official procedures in the past weeks and I find myself missing it.

As she hesitantly approaches, I rise to meet her.

"Hi, Madge. You up for a comfortably silent walk to school?" My voice is hollow and colorless, but I'm not forcing any emotion into it, not when I don't necessarily have to.

She nods with a small, wistful smile and falls into step with me. She set out early enough and there's no hurry.

"I miss you, Katniss," she says softly when the comfortable silence stretches to ridiculous proportions.

"I miss myself too," I concede with a sigh. "But why do you? It's not like we ever really talked. And now I'm out of appropriate topics anyway…" I let my voice trail off.

She pauses before we reach the crowd of teenagers thickening in front of the school and turns to face me with a long-suffering sigh.

"When almost everything you have to say is unspeakable, it's better to hold your tongue, huh? I guess we have that in common now." Unexpected comprehension glints in her eyes, taking me aback, but only momentarily. After all, she lived in a Capitol-designed golden cage all her life. Chances are she does understand my predicament better than anybody, perhaps except for Haymitch…

"Then why did you hang around me before?"

"You didn't ask anything. You were just there for me… and you somehow reminded me there could be more to life than this." She waves her arms to encompass the whole district, enclosed by the dead fence and clouds tinged with coal dust pressing heavily from above.

"Now there's even less to my life than this." _And __worse __things __lurk __just __around __the __corner._

Madge shakes her head lightly. "Don't let them imprison you here," she whispers, touching my temple in a fake attempt to smooth my messy hair. Then she leans closer and bites her lip, as if contemplating whether or not to share a forbidden piece of information.

"After the stunt you pulled, you may well mean the same for more people than you ever imagined," she breathes after reaching her decision. Then she pulls away with a cryptic smile and lays her hand on her chest, over the place where she used to wear the mockingjay pin she bequeathed to me. A bell rings, calling her inside before I can demand an explanation.

* * *

><p>On my journey back up to hell, a familiar pair or gray eyes greets me, bloodshot, but open and uncommonly alert.<p>

"Hoped you might pass by, sweetheart."

Gritting my teeth, I sink on the bench beside him. "I _stopped __by_ at your place often enough. You just happened to be AWOL every damn time."

"Wretched odds," smirks Haymitch, tilting newly opened liquor bottle to his lips. His sobriety tolerance is notoriously low. "My body is on a schedule. Gotta flush at least some of the Capitol dirt out when I return." With an expression that could pass for apologetic on most people, Haymitch reaches into a bag by his feet and produces a small bottle of bubbly. "Have a drink with me?"

Frowning murderously to counterbalance the eager movement of my hand, I reach for his offering. "What are we celebrating?"

"Victory."

"Big fucking deal it is," I mutter as we clink bottles with sarcastic cheer.

"You have no _fucking_ idea yet, sweetheart," he remarks, drowning his gaze in the transparent depths of his liquid solace. "If you did, you'd _understand_ why I cauterize until I drop."

Living with a mere fraction of the pain and shame reinforces my wish for oblivion.

"I'll get it soon enough. They wouldn't let their damn _artwork_ go unseen," I spit bitterly.

Now he looks genuinely contrite. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Trust me, I am. But preventing them from slipping a bit of tracker jacker venom into your IV was all I could do."

"Why the hell did you even bother?" I ask the champagne bubbles tickling my nose.

"Since you were so damn determined to win at all costs, it would be a shame to lose you after you survived round one, huh?"

"Hey, you told us to stay alive in the first place!" I accuse with a slight hiccup.

Haymitch gives me a disapproving glare. "It's your own fault you were dumb and stubborn enough to take my advice literally."

"Then you could have just blown all the sponsor money on drinks and let us die. That would save us all a shitload of trouble."

_It s not like I would have appreciated that back in the Arena, but… shit, if I'd known…_

For a fleeting second, he scowls so terribly I brace myself for a slap, but then his face breaks into a mocking grin. "You were broadcasting different message every time you screamed at me to send you something, sweetheart."

"It's not like you listened then."

He winks. "I did. You are at your best when you are desperate."

_Bastard._

"Well, now I'm desperate enough. What am I supposed to be good for? Waiting for our big return to the spotlight until it either happens or I go out of my mind?"

He laughs, so heartily _I_ feel like slapping _him_ now. "Everything in due time, sweetheart. For now, all that matters is that something in you is still alive and kicking."

Even he were right, I cringe to think what it is buried under. "I'm screwed anyway," I mutter with a shrug.

"Not yet, sweetheart, unless there's something you aren't telling me. You'd be pleased to know that the audience was hooked by your… trailer."

Bubbles threaten to fight their way out, just like _then_ and I impulsively draw my knees to my chest, curling into a tremulous ball. _That__'__s __supposed __to __be __good __news?_

Haymitch puts his arm around me in a strangely comforting gesture. "Relax, sweetheart. You safely bought more time than most Victors I remember."

"Safely?" they already altered me to match their tastes and hiding the result under my father's old hunting jacket brings only superficial consolation. _I__'__m __their __doll, __just __waiting __to __be__…_

"Safely, sweetheart. They didn't kill anybody yet, huh?

Defeated, I force myself to nod.

"You started a whole new… franchise. They'll want to make a big show out of it. That means you are safe for now, at least until the Tour."

_The __Victory __Tour_. That's when they are going to lay their hands on me again and force me into next round of the Games. Involuntarily, I shiver. "What can I do?"

"Nothing for now. Just go on with the chirping for the mics like a good loverjay, if you don't want Snow to change his mind and hurry up the process."

_Loverjay_. Ridiculous. Shaking my head dismally, I hug my knees tighter, as if I could squeeze myself until I disappear.

"And drink up, it fuels the fire," adds Haymitch with a wink.

My reply is something between a sob and a snort and a belch.

Haymitch removes his hand from around my shoulders and strokes my hair.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. The time you bought might be enough."

An odd glint in his eyes implies he knows something I don't, but my muddled brain can no longer form the right questions.

"Great," I sigh, draining the rest of my bottle in one big gulp.

Haymitch pats my head one last time and rises. "You still have enough fight and fire in you, sweetheart. Just don't let it burn out. Or sputter in this damn water," he adds, frowning at the soft drizzle that just began to fall.

"Should it rain liquor just for you?" I smirk and stretch on the bench, folding my hands behind my head to get comfortable.

"Some of your ideas aren't that bad, sweetheart," Haymitch throws over his shoulder, already retreating to where it _does_ rain only liquor.

His reassurance left me feeling strangely light, but I don't feel inclined to move anyway. The clouds are paler this high above the mines, just the right shade of silvery-gray, and there is nobody else in sight, so I open my jacket and let the pure water from the sky drench my clothes and seep into my skin and I imagine it washing the taint from my body and the fear from my mind.

_I've been guaranteed a respite before Snow sinks his claws back into my soul. I'd better use it._

* * *

><p><strong>AN no. 2: **

Hm. So much talking ;) Thank you for reading, please tell me what you think.


	4. Soul Surgery

**A/N:** Thanks for all the hits and even more thanks to Howlynn, EStrunk, Cloud-Lover26 and Ocean for the reviews.

Disclaimer: song lyrics quoted in this chapter: "Any Means Necessary" by Hammerfall.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: Soul Surgery<strong>

_I am not judgmental  
>A sinner nor a saint<br>Cause either you're my best friend __or you ain't._

* * *

><p>Rain falls on my motionless form for hours, like cool lament for reaped dreams, the sweet water from the sky mixing with the salty trickles from the corners of my eyes. Intoxicating sense of relief renders me unable to stand and the alcohol warming my core slowly burns out, leaving me to shiver in my soaked attire. By the time I summon the will to move, my teeth chatter and my nose tickles with the irritation of a latent sneeze. Venturing near the school in autumn and then languishing in the rain probably wasn't such a clever idea; not in a body I can't trust anymore. Haymitch was probably right, the Girl Who Burned should be kept away from excessive amounts of water. But I'm not complaining.<p>

_Radio __Capitol __sure __deserves __an __earful __of __my __snot_, I think with almost infantile glee fuelled by the very last bubbles evaporating from my brain.

Languidly raising myself to sitting position, I notice a figure with a slight but distinctive limp splashing their way uphill. Moments later, Peeta regards my watery glory from beneath his large umbrella with a concerned expression.

"Katniss, what on earth are you doing? How long have you been sitting here?"

"Don't worry, Peeta, I won't die of pneumonia and leave you alone in the mess I started," I sigh, rolling my eyes. I couldn't do that to him, however tempted I may occasionally feel. And I couldn't leave Prim after I managed to return to her, regardless of my condition.

He raises his eyebrows, surprised, because I never bring the games up voluntarily "Maybe it was me who started it," he says, obviously trying to use the opportunity for discussion. "With my confession during the interview," he adds in response to my questioning glance and gently pulls me to my feet and under the umbrella. As if all possible damage hadn't been done already. "But then you seemed quite pleased about it-"

"What?" I snap across him, jerking away as if I needed the rain to clear my head all over again. "Peeta, I shoved you into some kind of vase and hurt you! I don't know what you think of me, but I don't do thing like that when I'm _happy_!"

The surprise on his face melts into confusion. "I don't remember you doing that, Katniss."

"Well, maybe it faded in comparison with the shit that came later, but I sure did. Your hands were still bandaged when the Games began."

Peeta looks at his hand, lost in thought, but there are no scars to confirm my words, his skin had been smoothed to repulsive perfection, just like mine. "Maybe you are right. Getting slashed by Cato and stung by the tracker jackers was bad enough to make me forget."

Then he extends the hand towards me, trying to coax me back to the superfluous shelter of the umbrella. "Or the way you saved and nursed me," he adds, tender gratitude shining in his eyes. "You did do that, right?"

I take his hand with a defeated sigh. "Yeah, I did."

"And I thank you, Katniss." He gives my hand a grateful squeeze.

"You thank me for this hopeless fix we ended up in?" I shake my head, motioning to the Victor's Village that came into view.

"You can find hope anywhere," he contradicts me.

_Hope__…_ suddenly, I recall Haymitch's words.

"Have you talked to Haymitch? He said we may have time, at least until the Tour. That we may have _enough_ time, but I don't know how he meant it."

Peeta raises his eyebrows. "No, he didn't tell me yet. Does it mean that-" he looks almost disappointed at the prospect of being freed from our fake relationship.

"No, we should still give them their daily dose of tragicomedy," I say, instantly regretting my words. If it wasn't for my inability to fully return his feelings, or at least behave like a girl, we wouldn't have to act. But before I have a chance to apologize, the long-threatening sneeze finally bursts out of my nose and I wipe the results with my wet sleeve, like the lady I'll never be. "But I guess I'm calling in sick today."

His smile, almost indulgent, eases my guilt a little. "Maybe we could use a break."

I'd appreciate that to no end... tough this shift in his mood was a little strange.

"But please let me escort you to the best healers in the district," he suggests with the usual note of devotion.

"Prim is still in school. She would have chewed me out big time if she found me there." The idea almost makes me smile.

"Lucky I found you first, then."

I postpone my answer until we reach my door. "Now what are you going to do with a poor, sick girl?"

"Put you somewhere where you can't get hurt," he answers brazenly.

"Oh, that's so sweet of you to say that," I choke out with a grimace.

"Now that we are both so _lucky_ to be alive and together, I won't allow anything to harm you, my love, not even a virus."

Now I feel truly sick. Compulsory gratitude to the Capitol for letting us both live is the falsest note in our half-hearted love song, and now every syllable echoes like a metallic blow in my aching head.

* * *

><p>Luckily, mother soon shoos Peeta home to "quarantine" in a rare display of empathy. Once safely back in my room, I do my best to amuse the audience with gross sound effects, but drowsiness induced by my weakened state and the hot shower I took to warm my chilled bones soon claims me.<p>

With throbbing head and stuffed nose, I wake to silence and deep darkness indicating late night, and notice a piece of paper, gleaming white on my nightstand. Turning on the lamp above my bed I reach for it with embarrassing eagerness.

Gale used to give Prim messages for me in the first few weeks after I refused to meet him in person, and I keep all the yellowish scraps from Rory's old pieces of homework hidden away like treasures they are. Given the risks I asked Prim to vaguely explain and Gale's natural scarcity with words, they aren't even incriminating. This note, written on fine stationery paper, initially brings a pang of disappointed apprehension, but I recognize Gale's headstrong, artless scrawl immediately after opening it. Prim must have given him the paper… or a new notebook to Rory. My eyes close for a moment, unwilling to face the moment of truth. Maybe the hunter's patience finally ran out after my escape yesterday…

_Is he saying goodbye when we might have gotten another chance, if only for a few weeks?_

Reluctantly, I bring myself to read his message. No reason to panic… he's just more terse than usual… and after my reactions yesterday obviously uncertain how to address me.

_Hey…Whatever I did to upset you that much, I'm sorry. I won't bother you if you don't want me to, but I'll be waiting for you on Sunday. Prim told me you were sick, hope you get better long before that. I miss you. Gale_

With a sigh, I crumple the note in my hand and press my fist against my chest, suppressing the mad urge to run to him at once. But I can't possibly show up at his house sick in the middle of the night, so I just deposit the note to the others and hide back under the covers, futilely waiting for sleep to dissolve the inexplicably strong sense of loneliness. I miss Gale too much to let the Capitol cut him away from me entirely.

* * *

><p>Rest and Prim's herbal tea cure my light illness in two days, but admitting it would mean the end of my sick leave, so I dutifully blow my empty nose for the microphones and postpone the step as long as my patience allows. The peaceful reprieve eases my paranoia, giving me strength to believe Haymitch's words that I'm safe for the time being, and without the everyday obligation to act, I feel less torn between who I am and who I should pretend to be.<p>

During the worst boredom spells, I consider slipping silently through the window and running into the forest, but I somehow can't bear the idea of spending time there alone. Unfortunately, it's too dangerous to take Prim there and Peeta wouldn't accompany me to the woods that remind him of the Arena. Besides, I don't feel inclined to drag him there anyway. If I did, my last sanctuary would remind me of the Arena too. He doesn't belong there… just like he doesn't really belong with me.

With Peeta, I can never shake the feeling of being watched and forced to perform, however irrational and unfair the notion is. Once, he had given me hope and life and strength to fight with the burned bread I ate with mother and Prim at the very edge of starvation… but now I repaid the debt with the nightlock pill we spit out at the very end of the Hunger Games and he tries to give me the strength and hope necessary for a surrender to a life forever poisoned by the Capitol. And I won't accept that.

The next round of the Games still means fight. Haymitch confirmed it, and he's right more often than I'd concede when he's listening.

* * *

><p>Keeping indoors also means avoiding a real conversation with Prim. She seemed pleased when I gave her a note <em>to give Rory to give Gale<em> right on Tuesday morning, but wanted to know why we still have to exchange notes. After few days of thinking it through, the reason sounds even more futile and when we finally venture out for a walk, I feel increasingly stupid with every word.

Prim obviously shares my opinion. "Katniss, it's not like you at all. Why did you do it?"

_Because I'm not like me anymore._

But I can't drive Prim to treating me like a mental patient.

"Because…" Right. No logical explanation.

She answers my hesitation with a long-suffering sigh. Maybe she already does, and I just didn't notice.

"What did he tell you?" I ask, trying to divert her attention.

"Nothing much. Since you were sleeping, I even tried to invite him in, but I guess Gale doesn't like the idea of coming to the house very much. He just asked me to give you the note and left."

_Figures._ _Hunter __knows __a __trap __when __he __sees __it. __Too __bad __I __couldn__'__t __avoid __it_.

"Unless you invited him yourself," she continues. "But you two can't be trusted in the house together before you talk stuff out anyway, so-"

"Prim, I already told you that-"

She cuts across me with a sigh. "Katniss, _I_ told you that it's not reason enough. He wouldn't reject you for something that's not your fault. I guess he proved it enough already. You know I'll do anything to help you, but I don't think I 'm helping you by keeping this charade up."

"It's not a charade … it's just…" _Hell, I don't even know what am I doing myself_.

"You fought for me, Katniss," she says, her huge blue eyes shining with gratitude. "But you still have to fight for yourself. You need to get yourself together."

"I'll try." I promise her.

She embraces me before I can turn my back on her and clings without a trace of revulsion.

_Maybe_…

* * *

><p>Just after Sunday dawns, I carefully zip my jacket up to my neck, sling my forage back across my chest, slip under the fence and make my way to our meeting place.<p>

Gale waits for me, just as he promised.

_I can rely on him. Would he ever be able to rely on me again?_

Deliberately snapping a twig under my boot to draw his attention, I step into the clearing.

Gale looks up immediately and bites his lip, so hard I can discern the ephemeral imprints of his teeth.

"Hey?" he offers tentatively.

"Hey." Hesitating just a second, I run to him, sitting down on his knee and hiding my face in my palms.

He flinches in surprise, but instinctively steadies me with one arm around my waist.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, peeking at him between my fingers.

"What for?" he asks, perhaps in an attempt not to let me off easily, but the way he tightens his hold on me convinces me that he would forgive me just about anything.

_What am I most sorry for, anyway?_

"Everything. Being daft enough not to go to you at once. Trying to hide. Running away like an idiot. Making it more painful for both of us-" I mutter, my words progressively more jumbled.

"Catnip, what-" Gale interrupts me, his dark eyebrows furrowing.

Now that I shocked him into saying it again, I might as well explain.

"Gale, I'm not really her," I cut across him to dispel the illusion for good. "Your Catnip died in the Capitol."

He gently pries my hands off my face and tilts my chin up, moving slowly and deliberately, like Prim when she bandages a wound. "No, she didn't die. I saw her fighting to the very last moment."

_Yeah, __that__'__s __what __she __did. __But __you __didn__'__t __see __everything_.

Shadows of anguish and pride flicker in his eyes and for a second and I try to imagine what he felt when I flourished the nightlock and declared my willingness to die with Peeta.

_Better __not __go __there_.

Gale grits his teeth and continues, "Catnip, you won. You showed them up. The whole damn Games."

_You have no idea how they punished me for that._

Even though I survived the Arena, they started killing what was left of me immediately afterwards and the worst part is yet to come.

"No, they won. They always do," I sigh. I'm like a fly trapped in a spider-web and cocooned in the sticky threads, still awaiting consumption.

"If you say that, you _let_ them win."

"And the game is still not over," I add as an illogical afterthought.

Gale seizes the opportunity at once. "If the game is not over, they couldn't have already won. You can still fight them and you did a damn good job-"

"Gale, I-"

His narrowed eyes are boring into mine like knives, trying to cut through the layers of Capitol aberrations and my hastily constructed defensive walls, trying to reach _me_, trying to dig out traces of who I once was-

"Catnip."

I try closing my eyes as a last defense, but his gaze seems to burn straight through my lids. Gale cups my face in his palms, running his thumbs over my cheeks to wipe away the tears that started to trickle from under my lashes, the gentle movement in sheer contrast with his unrelenting hold.

"Only Catnip can be this stubborn," he whispers, so close his breath fans over my hot tearstained cheeks. "If you keep fighting, you are still you."

_Am I? Who am I?_

Intent on making my old self resurface, Gale throws caution to the wind and leans even closer, brushing his lips over my skin, kissing the tears away. That's my Gale – determined enough to risk awakening the girl that would punch him without a second thought just to keep her hardened shell of denial intact. But my old defenses had been forced to crumble and I feel absolutely no urge to stop him.

"Now that you returned, you can't let them destroy you from inside," he mutters, his lips still caressing my face as he speaks, and for a wild second, I wonder why I never let him do that before.

"They already did_… "_

"No, Catnip. If you are alive, you can still fight."

_... Haymitch told me something in me is alive and kicking…_

Gale's words seep into my skin, making that part of me stronger.

_Do I need him to make it resurface?_

"You already beat them at their own game."

"Not for long." The game is not over and they can still win. But I don't want them to.

"Catnip-"

"I'm not the girl you used to know, Gale…" But I don't want him to stop using the name, even if I don't deserve it anymore.

He pulls away and opens his mouth to pretest again, but I press two fingers to his lips, forcing him to hear me out, now that I finally know what to say.

"… I'm not Catnip and I don't even know who I am, but I _want_ to be her so damn much it hurts. Especially now that I know what the clueless twit had without even realizing-"

Gale frowns, trying his best to follow my incoherent tirade. "What do you mean?"

Thinking hard, I try to narrow the list down to most important points.

_Identity, __integrity, __dignity, __sanity, __illusion __of __liberty,_… all attributes that ring hollow in my mind after their meaning had been stripped from me, to be either discarded or stitched back in some new twisted form. The claws of the Capitol tear more than flesh.

And I've been almost deprived of my tangible certainty I could hold onto whatever happened.

"You," I whisper, leaning closer, resting my hands his shoulders and propping my forearms against his chest to prevent our bodies from making full contact.

Happiness flickers in his eyes, but then he shakes his head in frustration. "You have me right here," he says, tightening his embrace for emphasis. "And we could have met every day, if you just felt like going down from your Capitol tower." He tries to keep the accusation from his voice, but I detect a hint anyway.

"It's a prison, Gale," I mutter, avoiding his eyes again. "Bugged prison. And I thought that after what they-"

He cups my cheek and gently turns my head to face him. "Whatever the hell they've done to you I want to help you… I'm not letting the Capitol take my Catnip away. I'll hunt you down in your own head if I have to."

The notion is slightly scary, but he smiles, eyes shining with confidence, and I can't help but trust him, just like I instinctively decided to trust him years ago. _If anyone can do that, he can._

"I'll take you up on that. She's a pain to hang around, but I miss her."

He stops smiling just long enough to kiss my forehead. "Looks like I caught her already. Only Catnip can read my mind."

* * *

><p><strong>AN no2: **

Yeah, this one was kinda interlude-ish, but things will get crazier soon enough ;)

Thanks for reading. Loved it? Hated it? Please tell me!


	5. Dangerous Burn

**A/N:** Thanks to everyone for reading and even more thanks to Howlynn, EStrunk, Starsong17, karebear, Objective Mistress, Cloud-Lover26, CarolinaPhoenix, teamGale143, CatnipHThorne and Ocean for the incredibly generous and awesome feedback :)

Disclaimer: Song lyrics quoted in this chapter: "I'm My Enemy" by DyNAbyte.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: Dangerous Burn<strong>

_I'm gripped in my desire, I'm stopped by my hindrance_  
><em>I'm looking for vital space but I implode<em>  
><em>Oppressed by my moral load I stay in place<em>  
><em>I belong to a time I struggle against<em>

* * *

><p>Emboldened by Gale's reassurance, I allowed the tranquil spell of better times to permeate my consciousness as we set out to retrace familiar paths through the forest. The chaotic clash of heartbreaking regrets and mindbreaking anxiety that kept raging in my head since my poisoned homecoming momentarily ceased, allowing me to savor the present. The rare, precious present filled with serenity instead of dread. To my immense gratitude, Gale respected our customary almost-silence even though I could detect hints of unsaid questions in the unusually frequent glances he cast my way. Gathering my strength to eventually answer them, I drew comfort from our instinctive companionship and inhaled encouragement along with the lush essences of the forest.<p>

But the seconds of liberty ticked away too fast and now, as another farewell approaches with every step we take back towards our rock, I realize that our time together cannot be measured or stored away. Only full appreciation can bestow significance and purpose upon every tiny little _now_ we are granted. We thought we had all the time and light in the world and now darkness is falling and we have only moments left, moments I suddenly consider too precious to be spoiled by the outpouring of evil secrets. I feel stronger than I did for a long time, but far from ready to explain my role and return to playing it. And certainly not brave enough to reconcile with the idea of letting Gale go and subjecting us to six days of furtive whispers and stolen glimpses.

Still not daring to accept a proper embrace, I sit back on Gale's lap that I so belatedly discovered to be incomparably more comfortable than any other surface and curl against him with my knees drawn to my chest. Resting my head in the crook of his neck and inhaling the familiar scent I associate with freedom, I dread the moment when we finally have to slip back under the fence and return to our prison where love, fear and duty bind us like supernal chains.

_Damn, why couldn't we just stay here forever? _

"I don't want to go back there," I mutter into his collar.

"Neither do I," Gale breathes almost inaudibly into my hair.

_If we ever belonged anywhere, it's here. Together._

Tightening his arms around my awkwardly crumpled form, he presses his lips against the top of my head, whispering, "What waits for you there, Catnip?"

"Just radio show for now," I answer as close to the truth as I dare, but not persuasively enough to dispel his worries.

"Will you ever tell me? You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"Yeah."

Gale knows I responded only to the second question, but decides not to press the point, just shifts his hand to cup my face as if he wanted to hide me from the whole world and I find the idea almost irresistibly appealing. The pleasant warmth from his reassuringly rough palm seeps into my skin and courses throughout my body, creating a subtle burning sensation that used to scare me to death and impel me to rash escapes. But now that I've passed through more destructive fire, I welcome it and crave more. Flames suit me better than ashes and if Gale can help me fan them back to life, so be it.

_Why do I have to risk driving him away, now that something deep within me finally concedes how much I need him?_

But reticence and disclosure pose equal threats. "Next week. I promise," I whisper, my lips tingling as they inadvertently brush against his skin. I'm not that good with words, especially not when it comes to things too horrible to be spoken aloud and while we sit here like this, closer than ever before, the thought of non-verbal communication thrills and frightens me in an unprecedented, but compelling manner.

_Do I dare to find a way?_

After we part, chill air sweeps over the skin still burning from his touch, clearing my head enough to consider the risks with some degree of lucidity, but the daredevil longing stubbornly refuses to disappear.

* * *

><p>The week passes, slow and languid, but finally stopping by at the Hawthornes when Gale is home, though half-dead from the mines, gives my days much more pleasant structure. The presence of his family effectively hinders any dangerous subjects from entering discussion and my thoughts from straying where I shouldn't let them. Sitting in a chair next to Gale suddenly feels too far, but I bat the treacherous thought away, because it skates too close explanations I still owe him. Having him back in my life for more than a furtive glimpse through the window should suffice. Anything else would be too perilous, but I slip my hand out of his more reluctantly with each farewell and see my impatient desire for Sunday clearly reflected in his eyes, reminding me that we never shied away from danger.<p>

Prim, delighted by my newfound vivacity, seeks my company more often and the shadow of guilt lifts from her eyes, allowing them to shine on me like reflected sunrays. More often than not, I even find the strength to be more cordial in my interaction with Peeta, but carefully refrain from mentioning the reason. During the week of my almost-absence, he spent more time with his family and old friends, bringing in a slew of safe conversation topics, in addition to improved mood. Obviously, he benefited from our break just like I did and seeing him happier reinforced my determination to ensure that we didn't save each other only for a life of lies and suffering. Our easier rapport makes even the awareness of the incessant surveillance slightly more bearable.

Friday evening finds us sitting in his garden where he followed me under the pretense of walking me home and for once, I'm not actively battling a mad urge to escape. Instead, I attempt to seek comfort I crave more than I care to admit.

Leaning against his shoulder, I try to relax and forget everything but the fact that he truly wants to help me feel better, but some invisible wall still prevents me from drawing solace from one of the main causes of my distress. My futile wish that we never found ourselves in our artificial tangle of awkwardness returns to the forefront of my mind, so forcefully I can't refrain from voicing it.

"Too bad we hardly ever spoke before the Games. We could've been great friends," I mutter wistfully.

Peeta tenses, his expression an exact copy of the one he wore when I told him Gale is not my cousin, amid the wind chimes at the roof of the Training Center. "Great friends as in with-" he begins, but I cut him off by pressing my fingers against his lips.

_Have __I __just __spoiled __everything_?

"Please don't go there, Peeta. You don't want to anyway."

He gently pries my hand off his face and shakes his head with a sigh. "I guess I don't. I'll always be the loser there, huh?"

"I'm not a game," I snap, suddenly irritated.

"Katniss, I didn't mean it like…" the consternation and regret on his face make me feel contrite for my own outburst.

_It's not his damn fault_.

"Relax, I know you didn't. You are just… beyond comparison."

And that's true. Peeta doesn't compare to Gale just like Gale doesn't compare to Peeta and there's no sense in trying. They represent different aspects of my life - one I'm desperately striving to escape and one I'm hopelessly fighting to regain. I'm caught in between and hurting all three of us in the process.

I prefer to blame the predicament on the Capitol.

"Given the fix we are in, it hardly matters, anyway," I add.

"Hardly matters…" he repeats, all past elation gone. "Nothing but an unpleasant obligation, are we?"

The harsh truth in his words elicits a shudder. "I'm sorry, Peeta. I just… " I pause, uncertain. "Damn, I wish I could put you somewhere where _I_ can't hurt you…"

"Try your heart, Katniss," he says softly.

I shake my head. "You have a place there, Peeta," I say truthfully. "It's just that… I don't know… how to say it…" my voice trails off, as defeated as I suddenly feel.

"You're not comfortable with me visiting it," he finishes for me, sadly, but without a trace of harshness. "I´ll try to respect that. I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"I´m sorry. Goodnight." I turn on my heel and drown his answer in the stamping of my hurried footsteps, suddenly wishing to immerse the unfortunate argument in something else.

* * *

><p>Having resolved not to keep alcohol at home in order to avoid unnecessary temptation and to keep from disappointing and distressing Prim, I decide to stop at Haymitch's for a nightcap. To my surprise, I find him sober enough to read some sort of report.<p>

"Forgot about an old friend, sweetheart?" he smirks as I enter.

_Fat chance he would miss me_.

"I never forget about old friends," I retort, leaning closer to peek at the paper in his hand, but discern only gibberish.

"Never is a long time," he says and rises, almost-full bottle in hand. "Wanna shorten it a little?"

"That's why I don't forget about you. At least not till I get too drunk."

"Very funny, sweetheart," he grumbles once we get outside. "You'd better drink to forget about someone else. At least for now."

Despite his – _could I say compassionate?_ – tone, the advice chills me to the bone. Grabbing the bottle from his hand, I swig impulsively, oblivious to the vile taste. The burn, I need to feel the burn… but this is not the right kind. Not the kind I can't forget because it draws me more than I ever dared to admit.

"Hey, but he's down in the _mines_ most of the damn time," I choke out, not even bothering to play dumb. "I can hardly meet him anyway..." I take another gulp, both cauterizing and loosening my tongue. "Hell, I never even asked him why he had to go there. I mean, we got by just fine before-"

"An exception would be too suspicious, Katniss," Haymitch interrupts me, uncharacteristically serious. "He's on radar just because he's close to you. Cousin or not, he's almost safer down there." He doesn't even smirk at the _cousin_ part.

"What the hell?"

Haymitch stops the bottle halfway to my mouth and lays both hands on my shoulders. "Another good piece of advice, sweetheart: once you return as a Victor, your home becomes your Arena. Everyone is reaped by default. I know you kids are too fucking stubborn, but be extra careful."

My blood runs cold and I need any burn. "Can I at least keep this?" I stutter, gesturing with the bottle.

"Suit yourself. But don't drink yourself to death yet." The note of sorrow in his voice pierces through the setting haze and the slam of closing door makes me flinch enough to slosh a few drops from my unsteadily held pass to disgusting oblivion.

Even if I already deigned to abuse it tonight, I can't let it become a habitual escape. I need living fire to brighten me, not burning liquid to dull me. Unfortunately, the second option would be much safer.

I take another swig.

_Where's the fun in playing safe?_

* * *

><p><strong>AN no 2:**

Haymitch and Katniss send y'all virtual cheers for reading :)

Hmm, this story keeps getting out of hand – everyone wants their say and I suck at telling them no ;) Please tell me if you are okay with the pace I'm going at, or if I'm getting boring and should speed things up ;)


	6. Partners in Crime

**A/N: **Many thanks to all my readers, and even more to my wonderful reviewers from the last chapter: CatnipHThorne, karebear, EStrunk, Cloud-Lover26, Howlynn, silverdoe91 and Ocean (I'd love to send you a PM reply, but you leave no trace! Why don't you login?)

Dislaimer: Song lyrics quoted in this chapter: "Ghost Love Score" by Nightwish.

Also, one line in this chapter paraphrases T. S. Eliot. I offer virtual cookies to everyone who recognizes it ;)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6: Partners in Crime<strong>

_Bring me home or leave me be  
>my love in the dark heart of the night<br>I have lost the path before me  
>the one behind will lead me...<em>

* * *

><p>Dawn creeps under my lids, the harsh glow forcing me to acknowledge another layer in the sham nature of my homecoming. My mind, my body, my district, everything comprises my Arena now and cruelly rigged odds disfavor the alliance I need most. Even fighting for sanity felt easier with Gale watching my back, but they want to keep him away from me, to separate us with a death-threat more effective than the occasionally electrified fence. Covering against the truth under my pillow leaves me in suffocating darkness that only accentuates my sense of entrapment and when sleep persistently fails to liberate me again, I drag my aching carcass out of bed.<p>

Obviously, I didn't do much more damage to the bottle I'd prudently sneaked straight to my room before sleep overtook me, but my head still pounds like hell as the prickly waves of apprehension repeatedly crash on my skull from the inside. Liberal application of cold water alleviates the worst thirst and lassitude, but fails to restore even my wretched post-Games excuse for lucidity. Desperate to both escape my cage and to hide my condition from Mom and Prim, I furtively head outside, hoping to find relief in the crisp fresh air. Fortunately, my walk steadies before I reach the town.

* * *

><p>Peeta tends to spend large part of Saturdays at the bakery to enjoy the best opportunity for interacting with people. Torn between dropping in to apologize and not burdening him with my presence, I peek through the window, only to see him chatting animatedly with his childhood friend, Delly. Confident in her ability to lift his spirits more efficiently than I could ever hope to, I continue walking and soon meet Madge emerging from the apothecary. She tucks something into her purse, while balancing a deliciously smelling paper bag from the bakery in the crook of her arm.<p>

"Hi, Madge." Her eyes widen slightly at my appearance, but she doesn't comment.

"Morning, Katniss. What about breakfast?" she smiles, following my suddenly-hungry gaze.

The idea of entering Mayor's house for a meal brings unwanted memories of celebratory banquets, but they hardly overpower my appetite that abruptly requests a compensation for my inadequate liquid dinner. "Thanks, but… I wouldn't want to impose…" I offer, failing to convince even myself.

Despite my slight queasiness, the idea of filling my stomach with something to soak up the remnants of the vile fluid I'd poured in yesterday sounds increasingly appealing with every whiff of scent from Madge's bag.

"Nonsense. Mother's in Nightmareland," she says, jabbing the index finger of her free hand into her occupied arm to mimic the injection of morphling. "And Father's already in the Justice Building on some kind of overtime. Pretty much the same thing, but he has to be conscious for it. So you'd impose only on me and I honestly wouldn't mind."

The thought that even my company in my present state might be preferable to her loneliness elicits a cringe.

"Okay, then. Er…" How does one even ask such a question? Better just spit it out. "Is your house bugged?"

Madge answers with a meaningful sigh. "We can picnic in the garden."

Once inside, she plops the promising package on the table and fetches strawberry jam and orange juice from the fridge.

"Mimosa?" she asks, laying a bottle of chilled champagne next to the juice. I saw my prep team drinking such mixture once or twice, referring to it as _hair __of __the __dog_, a supposed cure for hangover, but it never intrigued me.

"My, my, Madge," I drawl. "Champagne for breakfast?"

She grimaces to indicate reverting into Capitol-monster-mode.

"Well, not every day brings an opportunity to entertain the most star-favored Victor. We should celebrate."

I've survived enough celebrations to last me for the rest of my life, and her acting is almost too impeccable for comfort. I just shake my head to impart I'm not fit enough to answer her declaration.

"But let's enjoy the lovely weather, Katniss, dear," she chirps, rolling her eyes at me.

Nodding gratefully, I take the beverages outside and Madge soon appears with the food and tableware displayed neatly on a tray. We clink the cocktail glasses and generously slather our croissants with the strawberry jam. For a second, I wonder if she bought it in the town grocery store I hardly ever visited _before_, or if the year's deliveries yielded enough leftovers for preserving, but the delicious sweetness soon chases all questions from my mind.

"Honestly, Katniss, your acting skills are even worse live," Madge admonishes good-naturedly after we finish eating and leisurely drain the last ounces of our drinks. This certainly tastes much better than I'd imagine a hair of a dog to taste. Madge checks her watch, withdraws a pill from her purse, pops it in her mouth and washes it down with the last sip or her bubbly-orange.

"Hey, I've been meaning to ask… if you're sick, maybe Prim could make you something better than Capitol medicine," I offer. Medicine from the woods should always work better.

She shrugs and shows me the package. "Some things are better done the hard way. Better safe than sorry."

My eyes widen as the comprehension finally dawns. "Would you trust something from the Capitol in a matter of life and death?"

"They are trustworthy enough when it comes to death."

"Too damn right," I concede with a wry grin and a slightly disgusted shudder, but make a mental note to stop at the apothecary on my way back to the house. The idea of allowing Capitol chemicals to regulate my body makes my stomach lurch, but the alternative is worse. When they force me to fulfil my foolish promise, I'll have to trust them in the matter of death.

"Yeah," nods Madge, "let's show them up by narrowing down their list of potential victims."

We share an uncomfortable laugh.

"But you were saying about my acting skills…?" I ask after managing to catch my breath. The topic is far from pleasant, but so essential for survival I can't afford to drop it.

Madge gives me an apologetic look, as if she read my mind. "You usually give them enough to work with, but the snot-fest from last week raised some hell. They had to air old tapes from the Games."

I just gape at her.

"Never mind, the Capitolites love their reruns. They have the memory of a bowled goldfish anyway. The _put you where you can't get hurt_ was a good one. Gift that keeps on giving."

"Both good way and bad way, I guess," I answer, dwelling on her strange wording.

_Gift __that__…__?_

"I wish that were the worst part." The words escape me before I can stop them. I shouldn't burden Madge with this.

Bowing her head, she massages her forehead with her delicate pale fingers. "Katniss, I… I… saw what happened," she blurts, still shielding her eyes behind her hand and my scrumptious breakfast immediately threatens to fight its way out.

"Did… everyone here see it?" I'd probably be getting more judgmental and pitying looks if her answer were to be positive, but… _Shit, did Gale see it?_ But in that case, I'm sure he'd have broken my house to pieces weeks ago, just to get me out and ask what the fuck it was supposed to mean…

On impulse, I grab the half-full champagne bottle.

"No… it was… exclusive footage," explains Madge, to my partial relief. "For everyone connected to the inner network. Capitolites. Victors. Mayors. Their sneaky daughters." Hesitantly, she reaches over the garden table and pats my hand. "I'm sorry, Katniss."

_She __saw __my __Pyrrhus__'__s __victory __and __given __my __state __of __half-dress, __everything __else __it __involved. _I don't even have to explain and she seems to understand. Both the bottle and my head hit the wood with an exhausted thump.

"Haymitch said I might have time until the tour… but then… I just don't know… I have no fucking idea how to live with it, Madge. Sometimes not even how to live with anticipating it." The outburst brings embarrassment, infinite, but perfectly meaningless in comparison to what she'd seen.

My eyes are closed, but I picture Madge biting her lip.

"Just don't give up, Katniss," she says cautiously. "Right now, nothing is certain. Things… things are moving after what you did… I don't know much yet, but I promise to tell you once I find out-"

Reluctantly lifting my head, I take another sip. "You think I could really incite… something?"

"There is a chance. You cheated in their game and they had to let you get away with it. You showed them fear in a handful of berries."

"Yeah, and they showed me…" I don't even know how to wrap it into words.

"So far, a little more than their wishful thinking. If they didn't have a Victor to play on with, they'd think they'd lost the round. So they grabbed you both. And the audience liked you so much they resorted to playing by your rules. It's not the end, Katniss. Don't give up," she repeats. "You need to stay strong."

"How?" I see no safe answer. I'm too accustomed to drawing strength from active defiance.

"The rule of thumb is: do whatever keeps you going. Guess who taught me."

I don't even have to bother and just raise my eyebrows. The expert on surviving death.

"Too bad that _whatever __keeps __me __going_ can get me killed just as easily. And not only me," I mutter, hardly daring to contemplate the consequences.

Madge studies me with a knowing glint in her hooded blue eyes. "I thought you'd be used to it after all these years," she says with a raised eyebrow, a hint of wry amusement in her tone. "One would think you _enjoy_ the danger."

"Er, Madge… _now_ I get what you mean. But then, it was just… survival. Especially for me," I concede truthfully.

"That didn't necessarily change, Katniss. Enjoy what you have while it lasts," she adds, softer now, her voice laced with sorrow.

"How do _you_ cope?" I ask in a sudden fit of inappropriate curiosity.

"I throw darts," she says, twisting the corners of her mouth into an unfathomable smirk.

"What?" The piece of information seems incongruous with… well, just about everything I think I know about her.

"It supposedly runs in the family. No, you don't want to ask, sweetheart."

Something in her statement convinces me to obey her and elicits an inexplicable urge to bolt from secrets that may rival my own. "Okay. Thanks, Madge. For… everything."

"You are welcome. Would you consider stopping by more often?"

"At least after every hangover. Or a released video." I shouldn't joke about such things, but it's laughing or crying and I'd rather laugh.

She just shakes her head lightly and waves me goodbye as I walk out of the ornate gate and head toward the forest.

* * *

><p>Carefully slipping under the inactive fence, I idly consider the idea of asking Madge to accompany me here one day or another. Would she appreciate and enjoy it, enough to justify the risk? And would her unusual company bring me a welcome distraction, or the enhanced sense of incompleteness I experienced in the Arena?<p>

After retrieving my bow from its hiding place, the persistent discomfort fades slightly, but not entirely. Even when I face it armed and prepared, the vast silence of the woods tends to assume almost oppressive quality without the hardly perceptible, but so reassuring whisper of Gale's velvet footfalls. The apprehensive glances I frequently cast over my shoulder fail to summon him up from the mines to relieve my loneliness.

_Luckily, tomorrow is Sunday and I'll have him here by my side again…_

But Haymitch's warning suddenly rings loud and sinister in my memory and elicits a shiver.

Should I really return to avoiding Gale in order to keep him and his family safe from the Victor's curse? Or is it too late? Has someone noticed that I visited the Hawthornes every day this week, after his return from the mines? Is even the innocent comfort of sharing a room with him and his family and reliving the memories of better times too much to ask?

Maybe I shouldn't visit this evening… after the haul I brought yesterday, I don't have a foolproof excuse…

But even if I don't show today, Gale will be here tomorrow. After six days in the mines, he wouldn't waste his only opportunity to truly live, and the trespass merits a death sentence with or without me.

_We can't die twice…_

And they shouldn't catch us anyway… We enter the woods through different holes in the fence, at different times, and meet at our rock, deep in our domain free of Panem surveillance, free of all hindrances and obligations.

* * *

><p>Sunday, replete with bright autumn sunlight, honors its name, just like we honor our unspoken promise to meet. After steering us on our way with little discussion, I use the long, silent hours to arrange my reeling thoughts. We are slipping into old patterns of cooperation with effortless grace, and the air between us crackles with tension that I used to stubbornly ignore, but now that I've tasted the compulsory and built an appetite for the reckless, every nerve in my body acknowledges the charged atmosphere. Gale seems to excite me more by simply breathing few yards away from me than Peeta did by kissing me. It's not even Peeta's fault. It's just the way it is.<p>

_Why does Gale have to be the one they want to take away from me?_

* * *

><p>With tacit understanding, we return to our place of greetings and farewells much earlier than usual. Gale sprawls comfortably on the rock, occupying maximum possible space, but I ignore his inviting gesture and remain standing with my back towards him. My breaths suddenly turn frantic in a vain attempt to inhale last molecules of courage as I slip my arms out of my sleeves and leave my jacket slung over my shoulders like a poncho.<p>

_Now_.

"You know, Catnip, I'm perfectly okay with watching your _back_, but seeing your face now and then wouldn't hurt either." The cheeky hint of laughter in his voice makes me turn sharply, with a frown plastered on my face and fingers curled tightly around the lapels of my jacket, carefully holding it closed.

Gale smiles at me. "Much better. Since I don't see you nearly often enough, even your frown is beyond precious." My features smooth into an involuntary smile at the confession. When I look into his eyes, my fear to face him seems irrational and my reluctance to destroy the invisible walls that still separate us despicable and cowardly. If I stubbornly insist on clinging to him at all costs, there's no sense in maintaining distance while we are together. Crossing the gap between us in two steps, I gingerly sit on his thigh, my grip on my jacket white-knuckled and desperate.

_He __wouldn__'__t __push __me __away. __He __can__'__t_.

We don't see each other often enough as it is.

"How can you stand it down there? In the mines?" I ask softly, both to sate my morbid curiosity about his ordeal and to prepare for steering the conversation toward my own.

Gale raises his eyebrows at what he probably views as yet-another evasive tactic, but decides to humor me. "I can't," he answer, gritting his teeth. "But some of the bastards seem to watch pretty closely if I show up. Wonder why, really."

After what Haymitch told me, I no longer need to wonder. But I prefer Gale to spend just a little less than a half of his time in the ground.

_I can't lose him_.

Shuddering as I imagine the oppressive darkness of the mines he has to face partly because of me, as I still almost envy him. Though visibly thinner and more tired, Gale is _himself_, undaunted and unchanged, as soon as he sheds the mining uniform and washes the black dust away, and every lump of coal he digs out for the Capitol only serves to fuel his own defiance.

"But it still seems better than the Victor's Village," he continues, lightly touching my face and trying to catch my elusive gaze.

"Maybe yeah," I concede. "At least it's the kind of hell that doesn't inevitably reach inside-" Shuddering anew, I cross my arms tighter and try to turn away.

But Gale grips my shoulders and turns me to face him.

_I __just __brought __about __the __moment __of __truth_.

"What have they done to you, Catnip?"

"Hurt me," I whisper faintly, mesmerized by the battle of concern and fury raging in his eyes.

"How?"

"Worse than you can imagine."

"Even after… after what happened in the Arena?" his grip on my shoulders tightens almost uncomfortably and I watch the old, familiar anti-Capitol rage prevail. Now that I understand it better than he does, I want to leap into the tempest and share it, to let it destroy all my hindrances.

"Catnip, what have they done to you to make you so…" He struggles for words, but I don't want to hear what expression he'd find to describe my state, so I cut across him.

"They changed me."

He shakes his head. "They can't truly change you, Catnip. Nobody can."

"Oh, yes, they did," I whisper. _You__'__ll __know __in __a __few __moments._ "And it hurts every time I try to think about it."

Gale grits his teeth, his chiseled jaw tightening in that delightful, quixotic anger I know so well. "Can I hurt someone for it?"

"The Gamemakers. Or maybe President Snow. Be my guest, I'd love to watch that," I say, my mouth curling with grim amusement at the irony.

He shakes his head in frustration, part of the rage succumbing to cold reality. "Catnip, you've been there. You've seen it. Is there really nothing we can do, not a fucking thing we can do against them?"

"No. Not yet." Sharing even the meager hints from Madge and Haymitch with Gale would be too dangerous… yet. I can't have him inciting rebellion before the time is ripe. I need him too much to risk losing him, especially to his own rashness.

"When? They can't get away with hurting you. We'll have to stop them… I was talking with some guys at the mines and-"

"Not yet, Gale. There might be a chance… maybe after the Tour… I'll tell you." _If __I __return_. But the idea fails to placate him, even without me pronouncing the last part aloud. I know how much he hates the idea of letting me go again. "We'll have to wait how things turn out."

"Wait…" he sighs. He's been waiting almost his whole life. "They reaped you, they took you away and hurt you and now I really see you one day a week and…" he trails off, gently moving his hands from my shoulders to my cheeks. "And they are still making you suffer, even after you returned. What can I do to help you _now_, Catnip?"

_Whatever __it __takes __to __keep __me __going_.

"Will you kiss me better?" I whisper, leaning closer and splaying my hands against his chest.

To my consternation, Gale tilts his head slightly away and his eyebrows furrow in confusion at the unexpected turn.

_I know he wanted to kiss me long before I went into the Games… did he change his mind?_

"Catnip…" he starts uncertainly, "did you just say what I want to think you said?"

"Yeah." The absolute certainty in my voice might be the ultimate proof that something in me did change. But right now, I can't bring myself to care. After finding my way back to him even through staged death and twisted rebirth, why not seize a chance to make everything both better and worse?

"So your golden Capitol boy is not up to the task after all?" he asks carefully, but his eyes, ablaze with anticipation, contradict his soft tone.

Gazing into their depths, I wonder how long he's been looking at me like that. _Months? __Years?_ Did I really need to save my own life by kissing another man to understand? Peeta looked at me with similar intensity, his eyes radiating affection bright like sunlight reflecting from tranquil water, beautiful, soothing and yet so alien, as if poised to engulf and change everything I am if I could find the heart to surrender. The fire in Gale's eyes blazes wild and familiar; now that I finally comprehend and accept its meaning, it draws me to him with irresistible force.

I can feel the ashes of my former self flaring back to life under his intense gaze, and I need, no, _want_ Gale's fire to fuel my own. _Maybe __then __I __could __burn __them __once __again__…_

"I need _you_ to make me feel better," I reassure him with a brazen whisper that slowly melts his frown into a smile. "Besides, anyone but Peeta kissing me probably qualifies as high treason now. We haven't tried that one yet."

His eyebrows convey a silent _what __the __hell?,_ but his lips take to remedying the omission at once_,_ hardly giving me enough time to finish speaking. Their hot, insistent pressure swiftly chases all concerns for past and future from my mind and I close my eyes to savor a kiss that belongs only to _us_ and makes my heart flutter in a way I never experienced before. I don't regret or begrudge the kisses I shared with Peeta in the Games and after, but they weren't voluntary, weren't right, weren't _real_, not entirely. This one is and nobody can steal it and possessing something the Capitol can never have fills me with a satisfying thrill of my very own sweet rebellion.

After several long, delicious moments, I force my mind back into reality and towards the worst obstacle. This kiss doesn't belong to the Capitol, but it's time to finally let Gale know what does. Opening my eyes briefly to confirm that his are still closed, I let the jacket fall from my shoulders and my arms snake behind Gale's neck. His palms instantly slip to my hips, willing me closer.

But few seconds after I slide deeper into his embrace, finally letting my chest press tightly against his, Gale pulls away with a sharp jerk.

"Er, Catnip… I kinda thought it was just…" his voice, strained from the start, trails off entirely. In a vain attempt to express too many questions and contradictory statements at once, his features create almost comical effect.

Fortunately, despite my misgivings, it doesn't spell outright rejection and I couldn't deal with that anyway.

"What? Wardrobe trick? They don't call it Remaking for nothing, Gale."

Quickly eliminating the distance, I kiss him again before he changes his mind about wanting me, and shut my eyes to block out his expression. The consternation and resentment in his stormy gaze break my heart, and the perfidious trace of heightened desire lurking deeper beyond them makes my blood boil. He responds with almost crazed fervor, as if he could avenge my debasement just by crushing his lips against mine.

* * *

><p>"Is this why you've been so… insecure?" he asks when we pull apart for lack of air, leaning his forehead against mine, eyes closed and breath unsteady. "What else have they done to you, Catnip? Has anyone-" His voice grows louder as he inhales enough oxygen to fuel his indignation.<p>

"No," I cut him off before he can say it aloud. "No… they just…" I shudder, crumpling in his embrace. "I'm their trophy now. They stuffed and prepared me-"

"For what?"

I recall Haymitch's words. _The __time __you __bought __might __be __enough_.

_Do I dare to hope so?_

"For parading me around," I say quickly, hoping against all hope Gale would _want_ to believe me enough not to call my lie. "They prettied me up to their standards, in the Remake Center, when I was unconscious and recovering. To drive home the point that I belong to them."

Luckily, that distracted him enough.

"The fucking bastards… they just… and you couldn't even… as there's anything the scum could to do make _you_ better…" He's too livid to formulate a coherent sentence, but then somewhere from the depths of fury, comprehension slowly dawns and he regards me with renewed concern, his grip on me relaxing from convulsive to tender. "So this was killing you all the damn time? Catnip, why didn't you just-"

"I was afraid you wouldn't want me back after they changed me," I admit grudgingly.

Pulling away, Gale shakes his head, looking almost affronted. "They didn't change _you_, Catnip," he repeats, emphasizing the _you_. "They can't. And I love _you_. You know I love _you._ Whatever happens, whatever they do to you, nothing can ever change _that_."

Finally, I let the radiant love in his eyes pulverize my doubt and give me strength to laugh in the face of death. "I know," I answer, caressing his face with my fingertips.

The sigh that escapes him stabs right through my heart, but then he just brushes a fleeting kiss against my forehead and whispers, "Good. Please never forget it again."

"I don't want to," I whisper back.

"But you can forget everything else," he breathes against my still-swollen lips, sending an eerily pleasant shiver throughout my body.

"I can't. It's more than a visual enhancement. It's a constant reminder I still belong to them-"

"No, you don't," he interrupts me sharply, regaining his senses. "Not here," he adds, brushing his fingers against my temple. "You are too damn good for them. You can't let them possess you."

"They almost did. I don't even belong here, not after…" my voice trails off. I still can't say it aloud.

"You belong where you want to be. No matter where they force you to go," Gale says softly.

"I want to be here with you. But you know we can't stay," I mutter, nodding towards the fence and shaking my head in defeat. "We have to return and play our parts. Where does it leave _us_?"

He shrugs slightly and allows a brilliant grin outshine the heartache evident in his eyes. "It leaves _us_ here. We are partners in crime, Catnip."

_Figures_.

We lived and breathed risk and danger before, in this forbidden place of freedom. Adding illicit romance to our list of offenses only increases the thrill and appeal of our escape, now that we no longer depend on it for sustenance, only for sanity.

"Forever," I whisper against his lips as our matching bittersweet smiles meet, desperately wishing to render my word true and stretch this moment to infinity. We belong together. Gale and Catnip.

No reaping, no parting and no victory is final enough to change that.

As our kiss deepens, all shards slowly click into place like remnants of a broken artifact, welded together by the liquid heat of our passion and forged anew by the mad hammering of our hearts. We savor the harmony for a long time, enthroned and entwined in the midst of our untouched realm, guarding our warmth against the chill evening breeze that combs through the trees, dislodging flurries of autumn leaves to swirl around us like confetti, pyrite-gold in the fiery shafts of waning sunlight.

* * *

><p><strong>AN no. 2:**

a) Thank you for making it all the way down here. Obviously, I have serious chapter-length-management issues.

b) I fell in love with the "I love you"/ "I know" plot device. It knows. Embarrassing.

c) Whatever you think about this crazy project of mine; please let me know!


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